


Tell Me It's Real

by wolfstsrshipper



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Clear PTSD, Depression, Disassociation, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JUST, M/M, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, So yeah, Suicidal Thoughts, Torcher, Very angst, Violence, be careful, neil spending a year at evermore and just being broken, non con kiss, very sad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfstsrshipper/pseuds/wolfstsrshipper
Summary: Neil Josten ends up staying a year at Castle Evermore. He's been hurt each and every day, and when he finally escaped, it's only to fall into Lola's waiting hands. When he's finally rescued, it's not the same Neil as Andrew had left to.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 28
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CANON CHANGE: i pushed forward andriel. So they started the rooftop scenes, the “not a this” thing before neil left for evermore and andrew to easthaven. They stole moments of when andrew was closer to being sober, like mornings before his dose, nights off his dose before bed. Things like that. Anyway! Enjoy! Its sad, be careful.  
> ALSO all of the bold was pulled *directly* from the book, they are the words Nora Sakavic

“Now’s the last time, Nathaniel. Run, while you can. It won’t be two weeks. They have other plans.” 

“You can’t have me longer than that. Kevin knows where I am.” Jean passed Neil a look full of pity. 

“Take one last look at the sun, you won’t be seeing it again any time soon.” He closed the car door and Neil followed him inside, not bothering to look at the mocking, clear blue sky. He’d been locked in his father’s basement for long periods of time. Weeks, maybe even a month or two. This wasn’t any different. 

Jean showed him around, showed him the court, where he would be sleeping. He told him about Wymack being Kevin’s father, about how they ran on sixteen-hour workdays. Sixteen hours of working and sixteen hours of rest made up a single day. Sometimes, it was sixteen hours of working straight through, but they usually broke it up to be a grand total.

So he wasn’t going to be here a normal two weeks. He would be here almost three. That’s what Jean had meant

Riko was there in the locker room, with promises of breaking him. Tetsuji was asking him to kneel. When he didn’t, Tetsuji beat him to the ground, over and over, until he blacked out. 

When he woke again, Jean was changing out his clothes to his court outfit. “You’re such a moron. Your punishment is mine.” Jean frantically whispered in French, a purple bruise around his eye. “Follow orders, make it easier on yourself.” 

Practice was excruciating. Every time he responded to “Neil,” he was beaten to the floor. He was poked and jabbed at by the ends of racquets when he missed a goal, if he couldn’t run fast enough. 

He wasn’t sure how he made it through practice, but he did. There were thirty-minute water breaks after every hour. And at the four-hour mark, there was a food break. Neil wasn’t allowed to eat anything today, neither was Jean. Something about not kneeling to the Master. Not that it mattered, he was passed out for most of it. 

Jean had woken him up and shoved him back on the court, picking him up every time he fell and balancing him when he wouldn’t stop swaying. 

At the end of the next practice (Neil didn’t know how long it had been. Time very quickly became irrelevant), he was shoved into the showers and changed out into the loosest clothes he had packed.

 **Riko was waiting for them in their bedroom. Neil didn't see him until he was already inside, and by then it was too late. Jean locked the door behind him and leaned against it. Neil considered fighting him, but he didn't have the energy and there was nowhere to go.** His whole body was aching and bruised. **He went to his bed like he didn't care he was trapped in here with them and sat on the edge of the mattress. He looked at the books and thought of Kayleigh's letter, thought of Jean and Kevin putting up with this day after day, year after year.** He could make it two - three? - weeks.

**Riko got up from his bed, and Neil looked at him. Riko was smiling, and the look made Neil sick to his stomach. His father had looked at him with loathing and fury. He'd never looked like this, like Neil's blood would be the highlight of his day. The Butcher was a vicious killer with a hair-trigger temper, but he thrived on death and fear, not pain and submission.**

**"Keep away from me," Neil said** , backing up closer to the wall, but he knew he was just further trapping himself in the corner, showing that he was afraid. **Riko pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. "I thought you weren't afraid of my knives, Nathaniel. Was that a lie to make yourself feel better?"**

**Riko sat sideways on the mattress beside Neil. He looked at Neil like he was imagining skinning Neil alive and feeding Neil the bloody scraps. His expression said he was getting off on the fantasy. Neil didn't flinch when Riko put the tip of the blade to Neil's lips, but it was a near thing. Jean moved up alongside them, but Neil didn't dare take his eyes off Riko to look at him.**

**"I am going to love hurting you," Riko said, "like I loved hurting Kevin.** This time, though, I don’t have to hold back. **"**

**"You are one seriously fucked-up individual," Neil said.**

**Riko slipped the knife into Neil's mouth and pushed, hard enough to break the skin at the corner of Neil's mouth but not deep enough to do any real damage. "Shut up and lie down," Riko said. "We don't have a lot of time, and I promised the master to have you in line before night practice."**

**"I hate you," Neil said around the blade.**

**"Lie down," Riko said again, "and put your hands on the headboard." Neil stretched out on his back and reached over his head. Jean caught his hands to guide them to the right place. Neil felt wood under his fingertips and grabbed hold. Jean let go of him only to snap cold metal over his wrists. Neil tried to look but the knife in his mouth wouldn't let him move. Riko felt him tense, though, and withdrew his blade. Neil looked up and regretted it immediately. Metal cuffs locked his hands to the headboard. He yanked his arms as hard as he could, nearly skinning his wrists in the effort, but the headboard didn't even creak.** Being stretched out like this hurt the bruises he had gotten from Tetsuji and from practice.

**"Who is your King, Nathaniel?" Riko asked.**

**Neil spat in his face. Riko froze, then slowly reached up to touch the glob on his cheek. He eyed his slick fingers for a moment, needing to see the mess to believe it, and then seized Neil's face in an iron grip. He pried Neil's mouth open and spat in it. A hand over Neil's mouth kept him from coughing it back up. Jean climbed onto the bed and sat on his legs before Neil could knee Riko in the back.** Riko used his finger to trace a line across his chest, then, he **pressed the knife to** the same place his hand had trailed **and slipped the edge under his skin.** Neil couldn’t help the full body tremble from taking over 

**"I'm going to make this as terrible as I know how," Riko promised him. "When it's too much for you, don't hesitate to cry."** Riko moved and sat on Neil’s stomach, making it hard to take a deep breath. He was weighed down into the bed, with two people on top of him. He couldn’t move, he jerked his hands, trying to keep them close, trying to reach out and hit Riko, shove him off. He never felt trapped like this. He had never been pinned down like this, and he _hated_ it. 

The knife dug further into his chest and Neil finally let out a scream. 

~ 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It was always hard to tell. All he knew was that he was in the living room, people were cutting into him, Riko stood over him with a smile on his face, clearly loving every second of it. “King’s right...you’re pretty when you scream.” Someone whispered in his ear. 

“When it’s too much for you, beg for them to stop, and I will stop it.” Riko said. A knife was being dragged, shallowly, down his leg. He couldn’t stop thinking of his father’s past threats. Of snapping his hamstrings. Of skinning him alive and not being able to run. His breathing picked up, not from the pain of the knives and never-ending blows, but from the feeling of Nathan slashing his tendons. This was it, he would never walk again, he was sure of it. He couldn’t stop panicking, it was dim, there were too many people, too many for it to be Nathan and Lola. He used that fact to ground himself.

Neil lasted less than a minute more, before whispering something. Riko held up his hands and suddenly there was no one around him, but he looked to his left and saw Jean, bloodied and bruised and unconscious next to him. “King…” Neil said, barely audible. His voice was hoarse and broken. He felt like his throat was bleeding. “Make them stop.” He couldn't help but glare at Riko. His tone was one of anger.

There wasn’t a single inch of skin that didn’t have a cut or bruise on it, and any movement pushed on other injuries. His whole body ached, all of him burned. He felt like he was dying, and maybe he was. Riko laughed an insane laugh, then gave a wave. Neil thought, maybe, just maybe, it would all stop. 

Suddenly, there were bodies against him again, with more knives, more kicks, more whispers in his ear. “You chose this, you chose to come here. You wanted this to happen.” 

"Try harder, next time. Mean it." Riko said viciously. 

Right before Neil blacked out, he thought to himself: _Maybe I did want this to happen. Maybe I grew up around pain too much, and now I can’t live without it._

A tear fell down his cheek as he went into unconsciousness. 

~

His dominant arm was wrapped up in some cloth. He suspected it was so he didn’t bleed all over the paper in front of him. “You’re going to write a letter to the Foxes,” Riko ordered. “And you're going to tell them I let Kevin go, but the deal was you had to leave and go back to your Uncle Stewart. Never to be seen again.” Neil’s head was fuzzy, but he didn’t want to be in more pain, so he complied. 

_Foxes, thank you for the home you’ve provided me. It was the best few months I had ever got to live._

_I lied about where I was going, and I’m sorry. Andrew, I didn’t break my promise. I was with one of them the whole time._

He knew Andrew would understand what that meant. Maybe it was too obvious, because Riko dug his hand into a cut on Neil’s back, telling him to get to the point. Neil let out a small, helpless whimper. His hand already ached at having to write so much. His fingers were throbbing and sharp jolts of pain shot down his arm when his wrist touched the table. _King said he paid someone off, and that if I didn’t follow, things would go south._ Neil didn’t even realize he had called Riko “King.” It was the only thing he ever called Riko.

 _Don’t blame Kevin, he didn’t know anything._ Riko dug his hand further into his cut. Neil moved away from the pressure, but Riko held him in his seat. He snatched up the paper and tore it to shreds. “I’d rather you stress that Kevin did know, and willingly let it happen.” There was a sadistic smile on his face. 

“But Andrew….” Neil slurred. The look on Riko’s face told him that’s exactly why he wanted Neil to spell it out. 

His hands were on fire, he had so many cuts on them, he was sure one of them was broke. His wrists were open and bleeding, torn almost past the tissue to the bone. Riko set another sheet in front of him. “Start over.” He commanded. 

_Foxes, thank you for letting me live in the home you gave me. It was the best few months I had ever got to experience._ Maybe he was laying the “I’m dead/I’m dying” implications too hard. But he didn’t care. He was best left for dead anyway.

_I lied about where I was going, and I’m sorry. Andrew, I didn’t break my promise. I was with one of them the whole time. King said he paid someone off at Easthaven, and that if I didn’t follow, things would go south. I won’t go anymore into detail, because it doesn’t matter, since it never happened. I know I’m the martyr no one ever needed, but I was there anyway._

_King did one better, he’s letting Kevin go. The deal is that I have to move back to move and live with Uncle Stuart._ He looked at the last line. He was writing in pen, so he couldn’t fix it, but he didn’t care enough to change it. He was tired. He just wanted to sleep, without being jumped. He wanted to sleep and know he wouldn’t be woken up to be beaten. He wanted to sleep and not have a nightmare. He wanted to be able to say the word no again, and someone listen. Like Andrew did with him. 

He wanted the pain to stop, and he hated that Andrew was one of the people who understood how quickly words can be turned to whispers of nothingness by other people. 

The last time he had pleaded, asked for someone to stop, said the word no, it had been a week since his arrival. He stopped, since there wasn’t a point. _Kevin doesn’t know why I agreed to go. I never told him. He didn’t know about the new deal. And I didn’t bother tell him about the threat. The deal is, if I never come back, he will never come after me again. Me or Kevin. And he’ll make sure my father never gets to me._ No, that wasn’t right.. Andrew didn’t know his Father was alive… Andrew didn’t know. He couldn’t fix it now. Maybe Kevin would finally tell him. 

He knew Andrew, maybe deep down, would be hurt that Neil didn’t trust him enough. Even after all of his “there is no this” comments. But it was better than the alternative. It was better than what could have happened to Andrew. 

He knew that Andrew didn’t want to be protected, but Neil couldn’t care less. How could he ever live with himself if he didn’t even try to stop the pain someone else was going through. 

He was just glad the protection promise was on a temporary hiatus. Andrew released his protection from Neil while he was away, and Neil took charge to protect Kevin, the coward. 

He couldn’t help but think, if he hadn’t put a pause on their promise of safety, that Andrew would never recover. He would never forgive himself for what was happening. 

Neil was a martyr. Andrew should know Neil came of his own free will.

Maybe he wasn’t always a wanted martyr, but the alternatives weren’t better. 

Neil pushed the paper away from him, and laid his head down on the table, his eyes starting to drift shut. “Write the address on the envelope.” Neil was already passing out, but Riko grabbed a fistfull of Neil’s hair, lifted his head slightly, and smacked it back down on the table. “ _Write the address_.” He shoved an envelope under his nose. 

Neil complied. 

He complied with everything they said these days, he just wanted the pain to stop. It had been two - three? - weeks already. It must have been.

Finally, it all set in. “You’re letting me go?”

Riko’s mouth curved into a smile. “Never. That’s just insurance that no one comes looking for you. Now...we should do something about this hair of yours. Reveal your pretty eyes.” He cooed, hand still buried painfully in Neil’s hair. 

Neil didn’t have the energy to fight.

~

The next time Neil was in the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and froze. There was a “4” tattooed on the side of his face, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His hair was dyed back to its natural colour. His contacts were gone. He looked _just_ like his father. 

He was sure the man looking at him was Nathan. A second later, there was a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away, striking out. “Shh! Be quiet! You’ll get us in trouble!” Jean whispered frantically in French. Neil realized he had been yelling. He dropped his hands a little and saw him, then resigned and collapsed against the wall. “You’ve been in here for over 10 minutes, we have to go, you’ll get us in trouble!” He hissed. Jean held out his hands, and Neil held out his arms. Neil was lifted to his feet. 

He was so tired. He didn’t want to go back on the court, he just wanted it to end. He wanted the pain to stop. “How long has it been?” Neil whispered. Was it his fourth week? Previously, he was sure it was only his second or third. But he had just sent a letter to Andrew. Maybe it had been four. 

He didn’t talk anymore. Only screamed and whimpered and whined and occasionally said a word or two in French to Jean. 

“It’s nearing the end of January. Palmetto starts school again in a week. I told you, you should have ran when you had the chance.” Neil only nodded and followed Jean out of the bathroom and to the court. That meant Andrew had gone a full week thinking Neil had abandoned his promise. 

But what did it matter, when he probably wasn't ever going to see the man again?

~

One night, Neil exhausted himself to sleep. Into a deep sleep. One full of nightmares. _His mother screamed at him, his father beat her, and in turn, she beat Neil. “This is your fault! You wanted this!” She screamed at him, curling a hand in his hair and throwing him around. “You’re so fucking stupid! You got caught! This is your fault!” She wouldn't stop throwing him around, against the wall, dropping him to the floor, across the counter only to repeat it and smack his face. “You deserve all of this! If you had kept running, they never would have found you! I died for nothing, you piece of shit!” She threw him to the ground._

_“Stop! Mom, stop! Please!”_

_“Don’t beg, you intolerable child!” She screamed at him. Her hand was still in his hair as she banged his head onto the floor._

Neil jolted awake, someone sat on top of him. His mom? He cried out. “Stop, stop, please, I’m sorry! Mom!” 

“Aww...how sweet.” An ice cold voice whispered. There was a hand in his hair. He woke up more, realizing where he was. “But your mom’s dead.” Fingers ghosted his skin, before King cut into his skin with a knife, in the places he traced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, all bold is from the book

Jean said it had been a year. It was the beginning of December, apparently. Jean was texting more and more these days. 

And then King found out. Nathaniel was beaten to unconsciousness almost instantly, Jean wasn’t so lucky. 

Neil was in an in-between state, in bed. He could hear everything going on around him, but he couldn’t move. There was shuffling in the hallway. He heard Jean groan. Neil heard his name, but he couldn’t stay awake. Just from that, his mind was tired and he drifted off into unconsciousness. 

He woke to fists raining down on him. The blows were never ending. King was furious, but Nathaniel just laid there and grunted and whined and took it. There was no use in asking him to stop. It never did anything. Suddenly, a hand was at his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply, and King was whispering in his ear. “Your teammates just cost me another player.” He whispered. 

“Jean?” Nathaniel asked, groggily. The fists started again, but soon, a knife was taken out, and was being shoved into his skin. It wasn’t quite stabbing, it was more of a slice, but it was too aggressive. More than usual. Usually, King took his time, but today, he was angry. He just needed a punching bag. 

His teammates...he had teammates? The Ravens weren’t his teammates. He recalled memories full of orange and white. People who had taken him in and had cared for him. They were real? He thought they were a hallucination. A mere dream of hope. But.. King had just talked about them. Was this another trick? He screamed as a knife slid under his pant’s line, pushing into his hip. 

The knife was quickly removed, and King picked Nathaniel up, then threw him across the room. When his head hit the wall, he went into unconsciousness yet again. 

He woke to the sound of a gunshot. Nathaniel jolted awake and sat up, ignoring the pain. He was in the living room. Ichiro was in front of him, and at his feet was Tetsuji - who was on his knees - and a dead Riko Moriyama. It took him a moment to understand. He looked around, but the room was empty. Was this a hallucination? No one but Ichiro, Master and, now dead, King were in the room. 

It took him several tries to find his voice. “Mr. Ichiro?” He asked, his voice sounded horrible, overused and raw. Ichiro just stared at him. Everything was fuzzy and his head pounded, making it hard to discern the scene around him.

“I will take into account your current physical situation, for the lack of manners. But I will not show you grace again.” Nathaniel racked his brain, trying to shove aside the throbbing feeling that rested behind his eyes.

“Lord Moriyama?” Ichiro nodded. Nathaniel just realized there were four bodyguards behind the man. They wore black suits, so it was easy to look over them, even if it clashed against their pale skin. “My Lord, why have you come?” It was the most respectful way he could have asked, _what the fuck are you doing here._

“It has come to my attention of what Riko has been doing in my name. Mr. Moreau was seen, and caught being carried out of here half conscious, by one of your teammates, no less. It has attracted unwanted attention from the press, and lots of problems have been created for me to handle. I can not have my name tarnished with such trivial matters and such carelessness.” His teammates?

The Ravens weren't his teammates, they just kept him there. His teammates ... His head hurt and his eyes were sore. His throat was scratchy and he could hardly place anything, let alone memories of real teammates. All he could think of was pain....no. no there had been a very brief time where he was listened to. His mom died...and he joined Palmetto State…. they were real. His teammates were real. They weren’t just a pipedream he dreamt of for hope. Andrew, _Andrew who kissed him on the rooftops, who was a constant steady weight to lean against_. 

His binder...Kevin had his binder. He started remembering there was an outside world. People existed, ones who had never hurt Neil Josten, the ones oblivious to Neil's past, which was held in that binder. He never truly left anywhere without it. Maybe Andrew knew he didn’t have a choice. 

Or maybe Andrew wanted him dead. It had been a year, and he had no idea what Andrew did or didn’t know. He couldn’t blame him if Andrew never wanted to see him again. Nathaniel didn’t want to see _himself_ ever again. “You are free to leave, for now.” Ichiro said, making it clear he planned on having a follow up conversation. Most likely a deal, since he wasn’t killing him now. 

He, very unsteadily, got to his feet and went to leave. He wandered around for a long time before finding the door to the outside world. 

When he opened it, he had to cover a hand over his eyes. The action made him wince, but it was too bright. It took him several minutes before he lowered his hand, and several more to open his eyes fully. The grass was green, the sky was blue, the sun was yellow. Cars had colours. This was wrong…. Nothing was black and red. He was convinced the world was wrong. But he recounted how he had gotten to where he was. 

Idly, he noticed Ichiro and his men pass and get into the car and leave, but he remained sitting. He did have teammates. He searched his memories for a long time, content on sitting against the wall. Remembering every single moment he could with the Foxes, holding onto hope that they would still want him.

He prodded his mind a little deeper. Nathaniel never signed the contract. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t. He was still a Fox, if they even wanted him back. He sat against the wall, taking measured breaths and recounting all of the memories he could when a sleek black car pulled up. The window rolled down, and there was a woman sitting in the back. “Hello, junior.” His blood ran ice cold as a new chill rattled his spine. 

Lola Malcolm. 

He jumped to his feet, beginning to run away, even though his whole body screamed at the sudden action and his vision cackled black.

Someone was there before he took his second step. Picking him up and throwing him into the back of the car. 

The door shut, and he was surrounded by darkness again. He didn’t even try to fight, but tears started to fall. He was just outside. He _just_ got out of the darkness, and now he was back in it. He would never escape it. He would die in the darkness, alone and hurting. 

“Nathaniel…. It’s nice to see you again.” 

If he _was_ Nathaniel, he would have made some witty come back, but there was no point. He hadn’t really had a voice in over a year. “It’s rude to leave a lady waiting.” Nathaniel nodded, glancing out the window, back at Evermore. He stared at it, not thankful for the red light. He saw a van park, and a little white blond kid practically broke the door open and ran inside. He thought he recognized a few of the ones that followed. The oldest one had tattoo sleeves. There was another short blond identical to the first, a few darker toned people, and others. They looked familiar, like his family. But he didn’t have one...they were a pipedream. Moments ago, he was sitting in the light, remembering his family. But that gave him hope, and there was no use for hope now. It was easier to convince himself they were a mere hallucination. No matter how real they felt, they were a pipedream. 

Someone had called him that. A pipedream. He couldn't remember when or why or even who. But he remembered someone told him he was one. The memory itself was probably just a pipedream, anyway. There was no use in holding onto it. 

The light turned green, and they turned the corner. Nathaniel couldn’t see them anymore. “Juniors all grown up! Isn’t that wonderful.” He was sitting in a cold metal chair in the center of the back of the car. Seats were both a few feet in front of him and behind him. He looked around and noticed there was a weird looking camera lens attached to the hood, pointed right at him. He couldn’t help but blankly stare at it. 

It had been a while since Nathaniel was handcuffed. His wrists had pretty much healed over. But they were still extraordinarily sensitive. He tensed, glancing over his shoulder to watch Lola when she went behind him and snapped his wrists into police-grade handcuffs. He didn’t even try to get out of them. Just the presence of metal against his skin, barely touching, hurt all the way to his bone. He knew it would be bad if he struggled, besides, she hooked them through the chair.

He felt his back to sormthign and his hands were restrained. This was when he was going to get hurt. This was when people would cut him open and watch him bleed. 

“You’re not as talkative as the last time. Last time, I distinctly remember you told me…. what did you say? ‘Fuck you’?” She walked around to face him and sat in the seat across, looking him up and down. “Well, now that you’re an adult… I can say I would love to. But your daddy’s more fun.” She ran her finger in circles on his knee. Neil could tell Lola was getting annoyed at the lack of conversation Nathaniel offered, she kept trying to edge a response out of him. “What did you tell your teammates?” She huffed.

His teammates weren't real. “Nothing.” He whispered. 

“Finally, a response. But… is it a lie?” Her lips quirked upward, and her eyes were full of malice. “I seem to remember you being a compulsive liar.” 

Using her index finger, she turned his head. “Oh no… well, we’ll have to get rid of that, won’t we. Rome?” He heard a click, and a minute later, he saw Romero passing the dashboard cigarette lighter to Lola. That jumped Nathaniel’s mind into working.

Nathaniel **leaned away from it with a heated, "You're sick."** It was the first real thing he had said with emotion in a year. **Lola wound her arm around the back of his chair so she could hold her knife to the right side of his face. The blade cut a paper-thin line from his mouth to the corner of his eye.** Nathaniel **went still** when she **gave it an experimental twirl and tipped it where she and** Nathaniel **could see the red-hot coils inside. Lola nodded approval and favored** Nathaniel **with one of her wide smiles.**

 **"What do you think?"** He didn’t respond. It never did any good, but he couldn’t stop his heart rate from going a million beats a minute. Being burned was very different than being sliced and hit. 

**"Don't flinch," she said** as she swopped her thumb across his cheek, then **pressed the lighter to his cheek.**

 **She said not to move, but there was no way** Nathaniel **could obey. Agony exploded in his face, knifing down his jaw to his throat and eating its way through his eye. The smell of charred skin only made the blinding pain worse and** Nathaniel **couldn't hold his ground in front of it. Heat ate a fierce line through his other cheek as he retreated right into Lola's waiting knife. He felt it like a distant memory, an insignificant tickle against the inferno. Lola followed him when he retreated, keeping the lighter in place, but pulled back after a second to inspect her handiwork.** Nathaniel **knew she put the lighter away because he saw her do it, but he still felt its metal and fire on his skin. Every passing second just made it worse until** Nathaniel's **stomach was roiling inside of him.**

**"Better," Lola said, and dug her fingernails into his raw skin just to make him cry out again. "Don't you think?"**

Nathaniel **didn't have the breath to answer. Every breath he gulped in was frantic and shallow, too short to make it to his lungs, just thick and quick enough to choke on. He twisted his head out of her reach and remembered her knife too late. He tore a second line down his cheek and hurriedly hunched forward instead. He couldn't go far with his hands locked behind the chair, but he had to try. Blood streamed slow and steady down his face, hot against his lips before it dripped off his chin and mouth to his thighs. He tasted it when he gasped for breath. The lighter clicked again. Nathaniel heard it like a gunshot and flinched.**

 **"I know your father's going to ask, but I have to know now," Lola said. "You listening, Junior? Hey." She thumped his back with the hilt of her knife. "Where's the bird, hm? We've had some time to dig around since we figured out where you were, but there's no sign of her anywhere. Tetsuji says you told them she's dead.** ” He didn’t remember them ever asking. **“He was sure you were telling the truth. Me, I'm not so trusting."**

Nathaniel didn’t respond. **Lola grabbed a fistful of hair to yank him upright. She'd put her knife aside so she could hold him with both hands, and her free hand clenched around his throat so tight he could barely breathe. She pulled him back against his chair. Romero plucked the lighter out again, and Nathaniel tried to put up a desperate fight.**

 **"She's dead," he said, almost wheezing through Lola's brutal grip.** _She died two years ago._

**"Do we believe him?" Lola asked Romero.**

**"Might as well be sure,"**

**"Right that," Lola said, and held fast to** Nathaniel **so Romero could crush the lighter to his face once more. Lola's strangling grip on his throat meant the best** Nathaniel **could manage was a pained whine. He thrashed mindlessly against his restraints. Lola was speaking again, but he couldn't understand her over the roar in his ears. His world narrowed down to the fire in his face.**

 **Romero put the lighter away, but he pushed it in all the way so it'd reheat. Lola loosened her grip enough that** Nathaniel **could breathe but didn't let go completely. "Try again, Junior," Lola said. "Answer me and make me believe you. Where is Mary?"**

 **"She's dead,"** Nathaniel **said, voice raw with pa** **in. "She's dead, she's dead, she's dead."**

 **Lola looked to her brother. "You believe him now?" Romero lifted his shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. Lola considered** Nathaniel **again, then smacked his burned face as hard as she could.** Pain exploded in his head and tears were brought to his eyes. **She leaned further forward between the seats to get the lighter when it was ready and retreated back to her original cushion with it. Having the lighter behind him out of sight was worse than the pain they'd already put him through and** Nathaniel **fought to yank his hands free. He tore his wrists open on unyielding metal but he couldn't stop. "Don't," he begged. "Lola, don't."** It never did any good, it never did. His words always meant nothing. No was meaningless. But he couldn’t stop it from escaping his lips in a silent plea. “Please.”

**"I've got questions," Lola said, voice oddly muffled. Nathaniel guessed she was holding the lighter handle between her lips, because she used both hands to roll his sleeves up. She ran her hands down his bared forearms, fingernails scratching faintly at his skin. She withdrew a moment later, and her voice sounded normal when she spoke next. "Let's start with your teammates again."**

“The Ravens aren’t my teammates.”

“I’m talking about those poor broken Foxes.”

“They’re not real, just a dream.” He whispered. 

“King must have really done a number on you. I assure you, they are.” 

“They are?” His voice was so full of hope, it hurt to hear from even his own ears. That must have gotten Lola’s attention, because he felt her pause behind him, before moving on. 

**“Tell me everything you told them.”**

Nathaniel felt her trace a path in his skin, and immediately he was set on edge. **Time stopped as Lola burned and cut a path up** Nathaniel's **arms,** ghosting his skin just seconds before, in a way King had done several times. Nathaniel **clung to a version of the truth that would protect the Foxes but no matter how many times he said it she wouldn't stop.**

 **Eventually he stopped answering altogether,** slipping back into his old habits of not speaking. It was easier, especially when no one listened to your words. It was better to save energy than waste them. **Every grimace and silent cry pulled the burns on his face, and salty tears were acid on his ruined cheeks. He didn't want to think about this, didn't want to feel this,** not again. Not after he had been hurt for so long, after he had been tortured for a year. **So he thought about the Foxes instead.** Focusing on their faces. Lola said they weren’t a hallucination, and maybe they weren’t. All he knew was that the thought of them offered some type of warmth. And so he clung onto it, it was all he had. It wasn’t hope, but it was a way to keep his mind away from the unbearable pain. **He pretended the heartbeat pounding a sick pace in his temples was an Exy ball ricocheting off the court walls. He thought of** Coach...Wymack...yeah. That was his name. **Wymack** held **him up in December and Andrew** pushed **him down against the bedroom floor. The memories made him weak with grief and loss, but they made him stronger, too. He'd come to the Foxhole Court every inch a lie, but his friends made him into someone real. He'd hit the end of his rope before he wanted to** previously, but now he was okay with the idea of death. **He traced the outline of a key into his bloody, burnt palm with a shaky finger, closed his eyes, and wished Neil Josten goodbye.** The mere thought of thinking his name made him flinch. After so long, after so many blows because of him responding to it, he learned not to. **Lola finally stopped and left him limp in his restraints. She said something, but he couldn't understand her through the buzzing in his ears and he didn't care, anyway. His natural choice in fight-or-flight mode had hit a brick wall hard enough to break every bone in his body. That left only one option, so Nathaniel Wesninski let the last few miles fly by unnoticed. He catalogued every throbbing point on his body and mentally ordered them by severity. The worst injuries were the ones on his face, but the mess Lola made of his hands was the most inconvenient. It'd be hard to fight back when even the slightest twitch of his fingers made his hands ache. They pulled into the parking lot of a sketchy hotel. Only half of the outdoor lamps were working. Nathaniel was willing to bet the security cameras were equally defunct. He gazed out the window,** not paying attention. 

He realized he disassociated. Idly, he processed that he was pulled from the car and into the trunk of another one. Lola layed down behind him, a knife pressed at the base of his shoulder blade. The lid of the trunk closed, and the car started moving. 

Nathaniel snapped out of the trance when Lola shifted and was on top of him, knife now pressed against his neck. “That offer still good?” Nathaniel’s mind kicked on again.

“No, no its not, get the fuck _off_.” He tried to squirm away, but the knife pressed down on his throat further. 

“ **Feisty still**.” She rocked her hips down. “You could be my type… you look so much like your father. But he seems to have more fun than you do.” She leaned down and grabbed his jaw, keeping his mouth closed with a hard force. Lola’s breath was right on Neil’s face, and she pressed a light kiss to his lips. “But you’re too young.” She chuckled, then dragged her acrylic fingernails down his arm. The car jolsted and she fell off of him. “Guess we're here.” Lola said, as if they had just arrived at the park for a picnic. 

He knew he was going to die. And he knew this was going to be the worst pain he’d been in. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. At least, after a day or two, it would finally all be over. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fox's POV

As soon as the car was put in park, Andrew threw open the car door and ran up to the school. His teammates weren’t far behind, but he didn’t notice. He was too focused on getting to Neil. 

Two days ago, Renee went and picked up a very unconscious Moreau. She brought him to Abby’s, where he was tended to. Andrew was there, dropping off some clothes for Renee when Jean had woken up, asking for ‘Nathaniel.” 

“Why were you calling for Nathaniel?” Andrew asked. Moreau stayed quiet. “Answer me or I’ll give you back to Riko.” 

Moreau paled, then, in a very strained voice, said: “He never left The Nest.” Andrew was out of the room with Renee at a lightning speed. He drove them, more than twenty over, all the way to the airport. Renee had called Allison and asked her to book a flight for two to Virginia and told her about Neil. 

When he got to the airport, the whole team was already there. They had been about twenty minutes closer to the airport, so they must have wanted to come as well. 

They boarded the plane and were lifting off within the hour. 

Now, they were here at Evermore. Andrew practically broke down the double door and stormed into the hallway. Renee was quick to catch up, a pace in front of him, leading the way. He had always been a little claustrophobic, so going down the stairs that narrowed out towards the end made his breathing pick up, but he ignored it. The door to the room was already open, so he just went right on inside, flipping the light switch on. 

Andrew stood in a large room. It was a jointed living room and kitchen. The walls were black, the floor was a glossy black tile. The cabinets were a deep blood red. Nothing seemed to be any other color. A metallic smell hit his nose and he paced the room. It was coming from the area beyond the couches. He walked around and saw Riko lying dead, a bullet in his head. Tetsuji lay dead next to him. Riko was holding a gun in his lifeless hand. He didn’t really care, he only had eyes for Neil. He absentmindedly saw the wet blood on the leather couch. 

Speed walking, Andrew went all the way to the long hallway, throwing each door open. There was a large shower room, two bathrooms, and several rooms that had no personality. They only held two beds. The very last room to the right was Riko’s room. He could tell, because it was the only one with character. The bed on the other side was stained with blood beyond what should be appropriate. There were a few pictures hanging above it. Kevin, who was standing behind him, made a noise in his throat and left. Andrew didn’t blame him, he himself was out of the room within seconds. “Is there anywhere else?” Andrew asked, angrily. Kevin shook his head and made an escape for the stairs. 

“Where do they keep the camera feeds?” He growled once they got to the ground level again. 

“Oh my god.” Allison yelped, dropping her phone. Tears stained her eyes, mascara ran down her face. Everyone stared at her. “Neil’s not here.” She whispered, not taking her eyes off her phone. Andrew was the first one to pick it up, his teammates standing behind him watching, but not close enough to touch him. That would be a very bad mistake to make right now. 

“What is this?” Nicky asked, voice shaking. 

“A live stream.” She answered. “I was looking for news, like maybe someone had found a boy, but I received a link anonymously.” 

“Can’t you track it or something?” Wymack was the one to ask.

“No! It’s being filmed anonymously! Whoever sent it was good. They have some sort of app that blurs their faces and distorts their voices and names.” Allison was very distressed. 

“How do you even know that’s Neil?” Matt asked. “He doesn’t look anything like him!” 

“It’s Neil.” Andrew said lowly. His hair might be a different colour. But it was the same hidden eyes, even though they were filled with emptiness. He was bloody and bruised and torn up and hurt, but it was very _very_ much Neil. 

Hopefully _his_ Neil. 

Andrew watched as the woman’s hands wrapped around his throat. “She’s dead. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.” He chanted, his voice breaking and raw with emotional pain. A single tear ran down his cheek. There was another hand that burned the car cigarette lighter into his face. Andrew turned the volume down. He couldn’t hear this. He could barely watch it as it was. 

“Turn it off.” Nicky pleaded.

“No, what if the camera drops, or if they slip up and say something, or Neil says something that helps us find him. Or one of the people step in front of the camera by accident.” 

“Everythings distorted with them, there’s no point!” Nicky moved away, tears streaming down his face. 

Andrew glanced a look down to see that the woman had come around and sat behind him. He just barely heard Neil’s pleas and turned the volume up again. “Don’t,” Neil sounded wrecked. The name was bleeped out, but he just said “don’t” again. He looked off in the distance as another tear fell down his face. “Please.” He mouthed it, but no sound came out. 

“I’ve got questions.” The woman said. “Let’s start with your teammates again.” 

“The Ravens aren’t my teammates.” Neil said, his voice wavering. 

“I’m talking about those poor broken-.” It bleeped out again. 

“They’re not real, just a dream.” He whispered. Another tear rolled down his face and he looked absolutely broken. A look Andrew had never seen before. He was _full_ of anger. He wanted to hit something, he needed something to _break_ just as hard as Neil had. 

The woman stopped moving to stare at him, clearly very taken aback. She shook her head. “King must have really done a number on you. I assure you, they are.” 

“They are?” His voice was so full of empty hope, that Andrew didn’t realize a tear escaped from his own eye. He only knew because a drop of water fell on the screen he was holding. He thought maybe it was someone leaning over him, but when his eyes stung, he realized it was his own. 

“Tell me everything you told them.” She demanded, running a finger over his forearm before taking a knife to it. Neil said some version of the truth, and kept repeating it. She traced a circle into his skin and put the lighter to it. 

Andrew knew what she was doing, and he _hated_ her for it. She was ruining his ability to be touched. She was ghosting his skin and then returning it with pain. Kevin stepped next to Andrew and looked over his shoulder down at the phone. He tensed up and stepped back, stumbling against the wall. 

“That’s Lola Malcolm.” He whispered. 

Andrew threw the phone to the ground and lunged at Kevin, wrapping his hands around Kevin’s neck and shaking him vigorously. Someone pried his hands off Kevin’s neck, but he just started hitting Kevin instead. 

It took several tries to get him off Kevin. Wymack threw him backwards, and people stood between Andrew and Kevin, who was sitting up against the wall now. “You can’t get answers if you kill him.” Matt snapped. 

“Where is he?” Andrew asked, not caring in the least. 

“He’s going to Baltimore.” 

“Then so are we.” 

“You don’t understand. We won’t get him back.” Kevin whispered.

“What’s in Baltimore?” Allison asked. 

“His father.” Andrew heard Kevin say. 

An overwhelming surge of anger took over him and he needed something to break, something to hurt. He needed to hit something, and Kevin was the reason why. He lunged forward again, hitting everyone who held him back. Even seven against one, it was hard to contain him.

Neil was going to die, and this time he would never be found. He was going to die and never be here again. Andrew couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , process that for a second time. He won’t allow it. Neil and his stupid electric blue eyes, his soft lips, his untrusting nature that somehow allowed only Andrew in. His stupid “I dont swing for anyone” words but he allowed Andrew to kiss him senseless. His fucking binder he was so paranoid about. 

His binder. Andrew stopped fighting. “Let go.” He asked, only once. Everyone did and took a step backwards. He reached for his phone in his back pocket. The Fox’s were visibly nervous, but calmed ever so slightly when he just flipped open his cell and began to dial a number. 

This might have been the one time Andrew was thankful for his eidetic memory, because he remembered the number so perfectly. 

“Hello?” A man answered.

“Is this Stuart?”

“Who is this?” He retorted, his voice visibly tense.

“Neil is going to Baltimore. He’s in the car with Lola Malcolm. Help us get him back alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nathaniel woke to bright lights. It was a change, neither a welcome nor unwelcome one. Why wasn’t it dark? It was always supposed to be dark. He finally opened his eyes when they had adjusted to the light through his eyelids and saw he was in a hospital room. There were several cords hooked up to him, and he could hear the faint beeping of a heart monitor to his right. His arms were bandaged, so were his fingers, and hands, and legs. Everywhere, for that matter. It would have been better to put him in a full body cast. 

He glanced around, noticing the room was empty. He was quite thankful for that, he didn’t know if he could handle the presence of someone. It was always only a bad thing. 

He watched the clock tick for twenty minutes before a nurse opened the door and looked in. She smiled slightly at him and left the room, only to be replaced by a doctor. 

“Neil Josten.” She said sweetly. He didn’t mean to, but he flinched back so hard that a groan escaped from his mouth. He hadn’t been called Neil in over a year. It felt foreign to hear it. Her eyes were sad. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember what happened. 

Lola took him, they were in the trunk, he was at his father’s… in the basement. They were going to cut him up and burn the ends, skin him alive. He was going to die in one of the most horrible ways. He prodded his mind, all he came back with was fear. He slightly remembered seeing Uncle Stuart for some reason. He remembered an ambulance, the police and the FBI. 

_“Nathaniel? Bloody hell.”_ His uncle said. He rambled something about the police, something about Mary. Then...Andrew? Something about Andrew? But how did he know about Andrew? He couldn’t make his memory cooperate any further. 

“How are you doing?” The doctor asked, walking over and reading a few of the screens. Nathaniel didn’t respond. He wondered if she was going to ask what happened. He’d never been to a hospital before, he didn’t know what to expect. But, when he didn’t respond, she stayed silent. “Are you in pain?” She asked. “If you are, I can up the amount of morphine you’re receiving.” Nathaniel scanned himself head to toe. He wasn’t sure. He ached, a lot. It was bone deep. But it wasn’t _pain_ per se. But the medicine made him sleepy, and he was exhausted, so he nodded. The little movement sent fire down his neck, it stretched the lacerations under his jaw. “Yes.” He tried to say, but his throat was just as bad, and no noise came out.   
“Try not to speak. You tore your vocal cords in several places, you needed extensive surgery.” He looked at the clock, trying to convey his silent question. 

“You’ve been unconscious for two and a half days. The surgery happened on the same day you arrived. You also had several places of internal bleeding. On several organs. You should go another full day without speaking. And after that, no whispering, no throat clearing, no coughing if you can help it. No screaming, no singing. Nothing too strenuous. I recommend being _completely_ silent for at least another day or two. But for the next eight weeks, please, Mr. Josten, do not damage your vocal cords. It was just barely salvageable, and any further damage could render you mute.” Neil nodded, deciding the stretch of the cuts were better than the pain in his throat. “You arrived with a pretty serious concussion, we have been monitoring that as well.” Neil didn’t do anything, just stared off into space. 

He slept on and off the rest of the day, not staying awake for more than 10 minutes at a time. He would wake with a start whenever the door was opened, receding into his mind, preparing for pain. But it was only ever a nurse or a doctor. On his fifth day, he was let out of the hospital. FBI agents came and went. He didn’t talk to any of them, no matter how many times they asked him questions. 

He stood, dazed against the wall as he was checked out of the hospital. The agents had talked to him, on and off, communicating what they wanted, what they needed from him. Neil barely processed any of it, he only started actively listening when something about the Foxes was brought up. 

“Caught your attention, have I?” One smirked. Neil noticed his name tag said “Browning.” “We weren’t going to let you see them until you talked, but now it seems that you need them to wake you up.” Neil made a non-committal nod. He wasn’t too sure what they wanted, but he didn’t really care. 

Neil carefully sat in the seat of the car, he flinched and pressed closer to the window when the door was closed and locked. His mind started to spiral down. It seemed to calm when he rolled the window down, when he could see the sun and all the passing people. All the colours, not just darkness.

Now they were at a hotel. He wasn’t really sure how he had gotten from one place to the other, but he remembered being in a car. 

He followed Browning all the way through the hotel, up the elevator, and down a hallway. He stopped short of opening the door, and turned to Neil. “After you walk through this door, you have 20 minutes to wake up. Then, I expect you to answer my questions, unless you want to spend the rest of your life in jail. Do I make myself clear?” Neil’s eyes were trained on the door in front of him. He felt more awake than he had in the past year. “I said, do I make myself clear?!” Browning snapped, grabbing Neil’s arm and giving it a slight shake. 

“Yes, King.” He responded, instinctually, flinching back. He was shaking head to toe, Browning’s hand was digging into a cut on his arm. 

“Browning! Let go of the damn kid!” The agent standing next to him snapped, shoving Browning slightly. 

The door in front of them swung open, and Browning let go. Neil slid inside the room, not noticing who he passed.   
“What the fuck did you do?” Someone asked, but Neil didn’t know who. There was a sigh, and the person at the door turned around. It was Dan. “Oh my god, Neil.” He barely suppressed the flinch at his name. 

Neil studied each Fox. Relief washed over him like ice cold water. They were real. They weren’t a hallucination. All of them seemed horrified by how many bandages he had on him. He knew he looked terrible, and that he owed them an apology and explanation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. They were all _real_. 

Dan, Matt, Renee, Aaron, Kevin, Allison, Nicky. 

He turned his head slightly to the left to see Andrew. He was leaning against the wall in the hallway, his arms crossed. Neil didn’t recognize this Andrew. He looked similar to the Andrew before bed, when he would wind down for the night and was unmedicated. The Andrew on the roof, who kissed him until he was dizzy. 

Andrew’s face was completely blank, but he was scanning Neil head to toe. Even with the look of indifference, Neil felt settled. This was the boy he knew, the one who offered a steady support. Who gave him a home, gave him protection. He was a solid weight to lean against, and an unflinching one in the face of Neil’s ugly and scarred past. 

Andrew pushed himself off the wall and took a few slow steps towards Neil. The room was tense, like everyone was holding a breath. 

Browning was the first to react, he moved around Neil to stand beside, if not a little in front, of Neil. Andrew either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he still walked forward, eyes zero’d in on Neil. Browning sent a reaching hand out to Neil’s arm. “Hey. What did I say ab-” He began to say. But a lot happened before he could finish. Neil, seeing the hand but not being able to process who was reaching, flinched back and hit the wall, but the hand still followed. He risked a look up, focusing on the fact that it wasn’t Riko or Lola or his father. It was Browning, who was staring at Andrew speaking. “Don’t grab me again.” Neil pleaded quietly. 

Browning still hadn’t finished more than “about” when there was a very loud smack, and Neil thought maybe he had been hit. But his eyes focused and saw Andrew had Browning’s wrist twisted behind his back and Browning’s chest was against the wall. The other agent, Kurt - the name tag read - pointed a gun at Andrew. “Again?” Andrew growled, twisting Browning’s arm closer into his own spine. 

“Andrew, stop, they might take Neil away if you break his arm!” Nicky pleaded. Andrew, after a few moments, let Browning go with a shove. Kurt dropped his gun and put it back in it’s holster, but kept his hand on it. 

“Touch him again, and I break your arm. Stop me again...” He threatened, leaving the last part open ended. 

“If you can’t keep your attitude under control, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Neil asked, a little groggily. “I seem to remember you saying you were doing this to get me to talk. Stop posturing.” 

“So you’re alive.” Browning said sarcastically. “That seems to be enough proof. five days of silence is nothing compared to a lifetime if you dont start talking.”

“Try again. I’ve been quiet for a year. It’s not that hard.” Neil chuckled a little, then stopped when his throat hurt too much. This was the most talking he’s done in, he wasn’t lying, over a year. His back was against the wall, and standing became too much of a task, so he sat down, leaning his head back. He wanted to sleep again, but the room was too full of people. Andrew closed the distance and dropped to his knees in front of him. Neil didn’t want Andrew to see him, not again. Andrew saw his scars, sure, but now he was made of them. There probably wasn’t a single inch on his skin that wasn’t marked. He was thankful for the hoodie and sweats. He looked away and to Kevin, who stood there as pale as a ghost. He had several bruises lining his face, and distinct hand marks on his neck. He felt angry at Kevin. He had seen Kevin change, he knew Kevin was mostly unmarked. 

“Where’s yours, two?” He asked, spitefully in French. Kevin flinched backwards and tripped over the carpet, landing against the wall with a loud thud. Andrew, in a weird gentleness, started peeling back the corner of a bandage. He was halfway done when he stopped and dropped his hand. Andrew moved aside a step and faced the room. Neil turned so his back was to his teammates, thankful that they wouldn’t see. It was a weird bit of privacy he didn’t know he was allowed to have. Andrew pulled the rest of it off, then moved to the bandages on his face and neck. Neil didn’t know how to react, no one was ever careful. No one ever made sure Neil wasn’t in pain...

Andrew was also very careful to make sure his fingers didn’t touch Neil’s actual skin, only the tape. He stared at him for several moments before gesturing to his face. Neil wasn’t sure how many words he was going to get out of him. “Dashboard lighter.” He mumbled. Andrew nodded. “How?” He asked. He didn’t have a specific question in mind. Everything was how. How was he alive? How was Andrew real? How did Stuard know of you, and how did he rescue him? Andrew glanced at Kevin and snapped his fingers. 

“When Renee started texting Moreau,” Kevin explained in French. Browning seemed to be angry he couldn’t understand.

“He okay?” Neil interrupted. 

“What? Yeah...he’s fine. He’s conscious.” Neil nodded, he still didn’t turn around, not with all his wounds exposed. Andrew was still staring at them. His face was unreadable. But far too analyzing to be apathy. His eyes almost seemed to shake, they would start and stop and start. In a way he had only ever seen of his father. _He’s furious_ . The thought cleared through his mind, like an exposed secret. “Jean had said he couldn’t leave without you, he was delirious. We... _Andrew_ , questioned him, when he woke up. Somehow, Jean leaving escaped to the news. And it's been a hell hole since. Andrew contacted your Uncle Stuart. Said he remembered the number. He told Stuart everything, and told him that King still had you. Apparently, Lord was already there. So, we all hopped into the van and ran over. When you weren’t there, Andrew broke into the security office and watched the footage. I recognized Romero, and so he choked the answers out of me. Not that he needed to.” Kevin added spitefully. Neil could hear the lie in the story. Whatever happened, they didn't see because Kevin recognizes Romero. There was something else. Neil was just glad he could still be a human lie detector. “Andrew told Stuart, who freaked out and said he was already on his way to Baltimore. Apparently the FBI wanted him to be caught in the act, but Stuart killed him.” Neil nodded again, at least the last part was true. Now he understood. They needed Neil to talk, needed him to explain everything and spill his father's secrets. 

“Does he hate me?” Neil asked quietly. Kevin waited a second before responding. 

“He said he always hates you.” He closed his eyes. His throat was burning from how much talking he was doing. He was tired and sore. Someone snapped in front of him and Neil opened his eyes. It was only Andrew. _Stay awake_. His eyes seemed to be saying.

“Neil, are you okay?” Nicky asked. Neil didn’t have the energy to talk, so he just nodded. _Neil, Neil, Neil._ He missed hearing that. He heard footsteps approach him from behind. Tensing, he turned on his heel to see someone walking towards him. He flinched backwards, but he wasn’t balanced well, since he was sitting on his heels, and he fell over into someone’s lap. He curled up and put his arms in front of his face, an instinctive reaction. Hands balanced him upright again, but the touch sent Neils skin crawling he waited for there to be knifes and he retreated into his head, disassociating.

Someone gripped Neil's chin, but he couldn't process that. It was gone in an instant, but he was preparing for a knife to be cut into his skin. He just tried to melt into the wall, his vision glazed over, waiting for the pain. But none came. 

He didn't know how long it had been, but slowly he realized someone was saying his name. Someone was snapping their fingers. 

"Look at me." Snap. " _Neil Josten,_ _look_ at me." That wasn't King's voice. "Open your eyes, look at me." He decided to follow orders. Maybe King would take his eyes out of his head if he didn't. 

There was a person sitting close to him, not touching him. It took him several seconds to realize it was Andrew. Neil’s back was to the room again. 

Whatever Andrew was looking for, he must have found it, because he lowered his hand. 

“Neil-” Abby begged somewhere behind him. “Let me-”

“No.” Neil was quick to say. “I just got out of the hospital. ‘M fine.” 

“Like fucking hell you are.” Matt spit venomously.

“Neil-” Neil had given up the fight. His words didn’t matter. They never did. Everyone would always be ignoring him. There would always be a person cutting into him, flaying his skin, loving the way he pleaded. It wasn’t worth giving them the satisfaction. It wasn’t worth wasting his breath, not when his breath held no value.

“Dont.” Andrew snarled. 

Neil gave him a look. He didn’t mean for it to be written across his face, but apparently it was. _It doesn’t matter._ He said. 

The corners of Andrew’s mouth tugged downward. His eyes were set on Neil. It took a minute, but Neil knew it was a face full of painful understanding. That snapped Neil from going into his mind.

“Not now. Don’t fucking touch him. When he says no, _listen_ .” He was being fought _for_ . He was being fought for, to be _listened_ to.

“Andrew, he’s-” 

“Don’t finish that statement if you want to live to speak others.” Neil stared at Andrew’s shoulder. A sense of overwhelming relief took hold of him as he heard footsteps recede. 

“How much do you know?” Neil asked quietly in German. 

“Everything.” Andrew gave him another analyzing look, like he was searching for something. 

“I’m sorry.” Neil said it so quietly, he might have not said it at all. Andrew, as fast as King, balled up his hand into a fist and drew his arm back, getting ready to punch. But it just stood there in the air, his arm visibly shaking with the effort of not striking out. 

“Stop. Say it again, and I’ll kill you.” Neil nodded, a small smile starting on his lips. 

“Guess I’m at one hundred.” 

“You’re past one hundred.” Andrew’s iris’s were shaking again. “No more lies.” 

“Promise.” Neil whispered.

“Like the last promise?” Andrew kept the volume.

“Never broke it.” 

“You left Kevin.” 

“But I made sure he was safe.” 

“Not like this.” Andrew growled. He reached a hand out, probably to grab the back of Neil’s neck. Neil unconsciously moved away from it, and Andrew dropped his hand, clenching and unclenching it in a fist. 

“That’s enough whispering.” Kurt said passively. 

“It’s been five days.” Neil closed his eyes. 

“But she said you have take it easy for six weeks. Whatever, I don’t care.” Kurt huffed impatiently. 

“Take what easy?” Dan asked, somewhere behind him. 

“Neil?” Nicky wondered, almost in a plea. 

“He had extensive surgery on his vocal cords. They were practically shredded, from what I heard.” Browning said with a small smile.

“What did he shove a knife down your throat?” Nicky asked angrily. King didn’t shove it down his throat, but he had gotten cuts on his tongue from the blade. He didn’t think there was any scarring. 

“Mr. Hemmick, people destroy their vocal cords from screaming and overuse. He would be dead if the knife went all the way down to his vocal box.” Kurt responded. Neil heard the answer in his correction. He just told them all that he _had_ had a knife “down his throat.” The room went silent. Andrew’s hand stayed in a fist. Neil wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he felt angry that his hidden injuries were on display. 

“I’m pretty sure I can sue you for talking about my private medical records, especially when you don’t have a right to them.” 

“Sorry, but it’s more than necessary to see what Mrs. Malcolm and Mr. Wesninski did to you, and your on trial for many charges. I can look at whatever I would like.”

“I will rot in jail, just to spite you.” Neil threatened angrily. Andrew grumbled under his breath in warning. “The case...it’s against Nathan and Lola?” 

“Yes, and the whole ring. We’re sure, after being there for a year, you have some sort of idea of what’s going on. If you tell us, we’ll drop all the charges.” Browning answered. 

“They don’t know I was in The Nest?” He asked in French. The switching between languages, using his voice differently, it was starting to take its toll. His voice was cutting out, and it felt strained. It was numb and sore at the same time.

“They think you were with your father the whole time.” Kevin responded. 

“Are we clear, Mr. Wesninski?” Neil receded at the name, but he nodded, nonetheless.

“ _Josten_.” Dan pushed. 

“You’re twenty minutes are up.” 

“You’ll have to wait awhile before I can speak again.” Neil chuckled slightly, his voice cut out almost completely. Browning scowled at that. 

“After questioning, when we decide we’re done, you’ll be submitted to the witness protection program, and you’ll be given a new identity and be sent-” Neil shook his head, as vigorously as he could manage, then sent Andrew a pleading look. The Foxes were already protesting the idea of Neil being sent away.

“It’s funny you think you have a choice.” Andrew muttered angrily, before standing up, dragging Neil with him by the sleeves of his hoodie. “He wants to stay.” 

“We’ll see about that.” Browning snapped, then he left the room. Neil got to the doorway before he looked back, his eyes silently asking for Andrew to come with him. 

Andrew had walked over to the couch, where a few hoodies rested. He grabbed the black one, but quickly let go and grabbed the dark blue one instead. He tossed it over his head and shoved it down his torso, then met Neil’s eyes. “It’s funny you think you have a choice.” He repeated, crossing the room to stand next to Neil. “I have to go. I don’t trust them to give you back.” 


	5. Chapter 5

It took Neil four days to get it all out. Mainly because they had to take breaks so Neil didn't overuse his voice. 

The next week went by in a weird haze. He didn't sleep for more than three hours in thirty minute intervals. He barely talked, usually standing at the edges of the room. Right now, he was in the kitchen with Nicky. He was going through the leftovers and offering them to Neil, who shook his head each time. “C’mon, Neil. You need to eat more. You look like a ghost. You need to build up some muscle again.” He said, almost whining. Nicky, in a moment of absentmindedness, traced a finger down Neil's bicep, as if to show him how much muscle he lacked.

Neil tensed and backed up, hitting the wall a little too hard. He slid down and pulled his knees into his chest and held his arms. He waited for a knife to trace down his arm, for hands to hit him over and over. Why couldn't they just stop? Why won't they stop hitting him? Why won't the knife go away? 

He felt hands all over him, he felt someone on top of him. He felt himself being grabbed and thrown around, kicks to his side. The worst part was his arm. It buzzed and tingled and it felt like it was on fire. That would be nothing compared to the knife that was about to tear into his arm. 

“What did you do?” Someone distantly asked. Apparently Riko hadn't approved of this. Maybe he would get off easy. 

“Nothing!” 

“What did you  _ do _ ?” He growled. Riko didn't ask things twice. He heard all of this, but he didn't process anything. 

“Nothing! I just said he needed to eat a little more!”

“Did you touch him?”

“What?”

“ _ Where? _ ”

“On, on his arm.” He distantly heard shuffling. Maybe Riko was getting his knives out. “Ice? Didn’t you say not to touch him…?” He felt a presence in front of him and curled farther into himself, melting into the wall.

“Two seconds is better than two hours.” The second day he had been back, Nicky had stumbled and grabbed Neil’s shoulder for balance. Only Neil just tensed up, offering nothing of the sort. So Nicky fell and landed on top of him. Andrew very quickly threw him off, but the damage was done. He disassociated and didn’t come back for two full hours. Andrew tried everything. He sat there and snapped, he threw small objects at him (like a wadded up towel), he tried talking to him. In the end, he had given up and just sat in front of him with a book, reading aloud. 

“But-” 

“Get  _ out _ .” Neil felt something be pushed into his mouth. His mind wanted to convince him it was a knife, Riko was shoving a knife onto his tongue again. Neil jerked his head backwards, but, with a shock, he had realized it was way too cold. And watery. Sliding around in his  _ closed _ mouth. A shiver went down his spine as he took in his surroundings. It was ice, and he was in the Fox Tower. He turned his head and spit it out onto the floor. 

He saw only Andrew in front of him. Neils back was against the cabinet. He suddenly felt very tired. Even breathing was a chore. He stood up and sulked out of the room. 

“Neil?” Nicky asked, somewhere behind him. 

“Going for air.” He muttered, slipping out of the dorm. His steps felt dragged and heavy as he took the stairs to the roof. 

Neil walked right to the edge and sat down, letting his feet dangle over the edge. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard the door clink open, and footsteps walked towards him. He glanced over his shoulder to see it was only Andrew, who sat down and mimed Neil’s position, just barely out of reach. Andrew took out a carton of cigarettes and lit two, passing the first one over to Neil. He took a lazy breath in. "You were supposed to be a pipe dream." 

Neil let out a weird noise, it almost sounded choked. He watched the orange glow of his cigarette and breathed in the smoke, holding it about a foot from his face. "I wish I was." It was just barely audible, the wind almost took it. Andrew almost missed it. 

"Well, allegedly he’s not, so where's Neil Josten?"

"Not here right now."

"Apparently." Andrew took another drag. "A year can really change a person" 

"’Apparently.’" Neil mocked. 

"I didn't change. That was drug induced mania. You. You changed. You're not as annoying as usual. Less talkative, never picking fights."

"Didn't pick fights." Neil’s tone was almost indignant. It was relieving to hear Neil talk like he existed, like he had thoughts and opinions and a personality. Andrew didn’t realize just how much he missed it, how much fear he felt over the thought of Neil Josten never coming back. 

"Sure as hell made existing ones worse." He continued. "When did he leave?" 

"Depends on which part you mean." The wind, once more, almost took his words. Neil himself wasn’t even sure he heard his words. 

"All of him." Andrew watched him, his gaze hard and analyzing. He stubbed out his cigarette when it got to the filter, lit two more, and passed one to Neil. 

He didn’t want to speak, it felt like such a chore. He thought it would be so much easier to shut it all out, deal with it another day. Andrew would have taken that as an answer, but he deserved them. A  _ year _ Neil had been gone. A year of leaving Andrew, probably confused, in the dark about what happened. And Neil didn’t want to leave anyone in the dark ever again, metaphorically or physically. He had been in both, and it was horrible.

"After the first week… that's when I stopped talking. Nothing I said mattered, no one listened. I just...stopped caring. Fighting made it worse, pleading made  _ him _ happier. The only thing that helped was....not being there." Andrew nodded, and Neil knew it was full of understanding. He hated that, so much that he realized he felt it with the most feeling he had in over a year. Neil stared at his cigarette, put it to his lips, and took an experimental breath in. People usually coughed and choked on the smoke, but he had been breathing it in his whole life and found he liked the way it filled his lungs. "My mind....I started losing control around week four, when I started to forget you all existed. It didn't help that I couldn't ever get sleep. Riko liked to jump me. I lost control when I couldn't control how I processed things." Andrew gave another nod, and Neil took another drag. He was silent for several more minutes. "Ki- Riko, whenever he would cut me...he would always trace where he would cut with his fingers first..." "A full year, and every time someone touches me…." Neil shuddered. "Lola, the one who did all this," Neil gestured to his face and his forearms. "Made it worse. She did the same thing. With my arms." He dropped the hand that held his cigarette to his lap, and used his other to trace gentle circles over a bandage. He stared emptily at his skin. "Every time someone touches me...I just… I  _ can't _ ." Neil's voice broke, his hand that traced circles stopped moving and begin to tremble. Even his own touch made his mind go haywire. He remembered the way the car lighter had burned into his skin. His whole body began to slightly tremble. It was too dark to see, but maybe Andrew could feel them. 

"Is this Nathaniel?" He asked to the night 

"No. This is no one."

"You are not no one. You are a Fox." Neil stopped trembling slightly at Andrew's words. "Do you want Abby to get you sleeping pills?" He shook his head. "You need sleep." 

"I know. I just-" His voice was so full of tiredness. "Every time I close my eyes, I'm back at Evermore. I'm scared if I wake up, I'll be back. I'm scared this is a hallucination. I can't go back." His voice wavered, and it hurt against his sore throat. He still had to be so careful not to overuse it. It felt hot and sharp. His vision was oddly blurry.

"I don't know how to protect you from your mind." This time, it was Neil who had to strain to hear Andrew's words. 

"I don't mind if you don't ever give me protection again. I just need this to be real." 

"It's real." Neil didn't realize he was crying until a small drop of water fell onto his arm. He didn't know if he would ever be able to believe it could be real, but he trusted Andrew enough to let himself think that maybe it was. 

**Author's Note:**

> ALL comments are welcome and loved and encouraged. honestly, also reread like a million times


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